Us Against Them
by Hyper Kid
Summary: Superwholock. Something strange is going on in California. Mycroft sends Sherlock and John to find out why Moriarty is in a small town. Amy and Rory are going to check out the strange deaths in San Francisco in the hope of finding the Doctor. Sam and Dean just want to stop the killing. They will all need to join forces to stop what comes next.
1. 01: Introductions

HK: I am a bad girl… I promised Cassie I'd put this up about a month ago… I was kinda hoping to get more written, but I have at least a few chapters ready to be used! :D And with any luck whatsoever my muse will come back.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Sherlock, Doctor Who or anything affiliated with it. I make no money from this, but if I could I would consider it. :P

WARNINGS! Mikifer in the future, as well as other more secret ships ;) but most of them are slash.

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John Watson was quite surprised at how quickly you got used to mysterious helicopters whisking you away to Buckingham Palace. This was only the third time, but already the wonder was gone. He was just glad to see that they had persuaded Sherlock to put his pants on this time.

Admittedly, they were pajama pants, but it beat the sheet and the bathrobe that had made their first two trips memorable. Sherlock seemed to have a hobby of making Mycroft as uncomfortable as physically possible.

Unfortunately, just as John was getting used to helicopters showing up at crime scenes, the hospital, and Tesco, Mycroft seemed to have given up on his little brother not embarrassing him. He didn't even blink as he walked into the room, simply taking a seat opposite them.

"Really, Sherlock, it is four o'clock in the afternoon." He sounded more resigned than anything else. Sherlock shrugged, determined to get a rise out of his brother.

"About time for the fourth meal of the day then?" This did indeed provoke a reaction from Mycroft, who glared at his brother before pulling himself together again.

"This is hardly the time for juvenile bickering, Sherlock. I am most concerned about some strange happenings in America." Since Sherlock clearly had no idea what Mycroft was talking about (would it kill him to watch the news?), John cleared his throat.

"Uh, do you mean the recent deaths?" As a doctor, John had been interested in the strange murders that had even crossed the Atlantic. He had never heard of anything that could suck the life out of a person like that before. However, Mycroft was not a doctor.

"Actually no. What the Americans do to one another is none of my concern." He gave John a tight smile, pretending not to hear Sherlock's muttered "as if you weren't behind it". "I'm far more interested in why mister James Moriarty has been spotted several times in a small town in California."

That shut Sherlock up at once. John sat up, staring at Mycroft.

"Moriarty… But… I thought your people had him!" He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, but everything else seemed to be reaching him from a great distance. Mycroft had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Yes, well. He escaped a short while ago. I'm certain he must have had outside help…" He gave a polite little cough. Sherlock shook himself back to reality, rolling his eyes.

"Of course he had outside help, Mycroft! This is Moriarty we're talking about! So now I suppose you want John and I to go to America to clean up your little spill?" The Holmes brothers shared a long glare, which Mycroft broke off.

"That is the general gist of what I'm saying. Of course, if you're afraid to go head to head with Moriarty again…" Sherlock glowered at his brother for a while longer. Finally he thrust out his hand.

"Give me the tickets, Mycroft." John half turned to stare at his companion in surprise. This was the first time he had ever seen Sherlock volunteer to help his brother without a fight. Then again, this was Moriarty they were talking about.

XX

Amelia Pond was busy packing a large backpack when her husband Rory found her.

"Amy, what are you doing?" Brushing long red hair back out of her face, Amy straightened up, pointing at the dresser in the corner.

"Pack that lot for me, will you?" Rory glanced at the dresser in question, then back to his wife.

"Why? Where are we going?" Giving up on trying to cram another sweater into the bag she was already carrying, Amy breezed past her husband to fetch another bag. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she passed.

"America." She marched over to the laundry cupboard, pulling it open and tugging another rucksack out of the bottom. Rory spun to face her, utterly confused.

"What are you talking about? We can't go to America!"

"Yes we can," Amy said in her best no nonsense voice, pulling a pair of tickets from her pocket and waving them at Rory. "Our flight leaves at seven." Already she was back in the bedroom, forcing one of her favourite miniskirts into the first bag before starting to pile Rory's clothes into the second.

Rory sighed, walking over and taking the bag. It was quite likely the only way he'd get an answer.

"Why do you want to go to America, Amy?" Several centuries of waiting for her as an unaging plastic robot had taught Rory patience if nothing else. His lovely Scottish wife sighed impatiently, giving up on her packing until she could get the bag back.

"Haven't you been paying attention, Rory? There's a lot of weird stuff going on in California. Power surges, electrical storms, all those murders? It's got to be alien. And where there's alien stuff…"

"The Doctor shows up," Rory finished with a sigh. "And you think he'll need our help." Amy bestowed a gleaming smile on him.

"Exactly." She took the bag from his unresisting hands, examining one of Rory's favourite shirts before deciding against it and tossing it into a corner. Rory shook his head, going and picking up the shirt. He already knew it was hopeless, but he might as well try…

"Don't you think that if he needed us he would just come and get us, or call?" And now Amy gave him a sceptical look.

"This is the Doctor we're talking about, Rory. He always needs us, and he never admits it." Rory gave up, taking the bag of his clothes from Amy's hands and starting to neatly fold everything inside.

"You're right." He made sure he kept his shirt in the pile. Part of the reason he liked it was because Amy didn't, and he wanted to prove that he did have some independence. Amy smiled at him again, pressing another kiss to his lips.

"I always am." And just like that his hurricane wife was off again, to get more stuff ready for their trip. Rory sighed and finished folding the clothes.

Just like always, it would be up to him to call their jobs and tell them that they were going to be away for a few days. Or maybe longer. Anything that had to do with the Doctor could never go as planned.

XX

Bobby Singer pushed his chair back from the desk, frowning at his computer.

"That can't be right…"

"What can't be right, sweetness?" At the familiar voice Bobby swore, pulling a shotgun from under the desk and leveling it at the short portly man in the black suit who had just appeared in the doorway.

"What the hell do you want, Crowley?" The demon shrugged, picking up a glass and pouring some Craig from the flask he kept in his coat.

"Nothing in particular. Can't an old friend call just to say hello?" He gave Bobby a sardonically amused smile. Bobby glared back, not lowering his gun.

"No offense your highness, but we ain't exactly what I would call friends." He wasn't likely to forget how the demon had tried to screw him over. Crowley sighed dramatically, taking a few steps into the room.

"You aren't still sore about that business with your soul, are you? You got it back."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Bobby snorted. The king of Hell shook his head, taking a sip of his drink.

"Really, Bobby. No need to hold a grudge. After all, who gave you your legs back in the first place? I didn't have to, you know." Crowley couldn't keep the smile off his lips though. He did so enjoy the time he spent bantering with Robert. Bobby, who didn't enjoy the experience even half as much, rolled his eyes.

"Well aren't you a saint. Now why the hell are you here?" The day Robert Singer trusted any damn demon was the day you could put him to bed with a shovel. And you'd probably have to, after the demon was done with him. Crowley shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

"Just to chat. After all, since Sam and Dean have been helping me out, I have a lot more free time on my hands." Not a chance that he could keep the amusement out of his voice. He knew how much both boys hated having to work for him.

Bobby huffed, reluctantly lowering the gun. Not that it would help much in any case. Now his hand travelled towards the two gallon jug of holy water he kept just for Crowley's little visits.

"This ain't exactly a great time."

"Is it ever?" Crowley asked in an off handed manner. He knew exactly what Bobby was reaching for. He planned to be gone by the time the hunter reached it. But until that moment… Bobby let out a sarcastic chuckle.

"For you? No." His hand touched the top of the lid. Crowley saw the motion, saw the spark in the hunter's eye. His smile spread.

"Guess I'll be off then. I'll call again at a more convenient time, shall I?" Bobby swore, grabbing the bottle as Crowley vanished, reappearing directly in front of the old hunter to press their lips together in a kiss before disappearing for good.

Bobby swore some more, wiping his lips and cursing Crowley every way he could think of. Why did he always have to do that? Still muttering angrily under his breath, he caught sight of his computer screen again.

Was it possible that Crowley had showed up to try and distract him? Either way, there was something going on, and Bobby wasn't about to leave his base to find out. No knowing how many people would be arrested if he wasn't there to answer the phones.

Luckily, he knew of a pair of idjits who could check it out. Grabbing the nearest phone, he dialed Dean Winchester's number.

"Hey kid, I've got something for ya. I need ya to go to California. Yeah… start in San Francisco."

XXXX

HK: I know everyone likes to send Sam and Dean to England, but I like to be different. There's no reason they shouldn't go to the States!


	2. 02: Travel

HK: Here's chapter two!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who or Sherlock

WARNINGS! Sherlock being an ass, Rory and John being freakishly similar (seriously, look a picture at the two of them side by side), Sam and Dean

XXXX

Amy and Rory had a reasonably pleasant flight out of London. They would never be able to afford First Class, but there was an accident at the check in desk and Amy had managed to wrangle a free upgrade out of it.

It often came as a shock to people who wrote her off as just another pretty face that she had a will of steel. Rory had never flown first class before. Discounting his travels with the Doctor, he had only left Leadworth to go to college.

Of course, soaring around time and space with an alien inside a space ship should have left him feeling blasé about more mundane forms of travel, like aeroplanes, but as they found their seats he found himself unable to keep a nervous but excited smile from his face. He had never flown before… Beside him Amy giggled, shaking her head.

"Look at you. You're like a little kid!" She, of course, was completely comfortable. It took more than air travel to excite Amy Pond! Rory gave her a confused half-smile half-glare.

"I've never flown before, okay?" He stowed Amy's purse (and he never thought he'd see the day when his wife carried a purse) in the overhead compartment before sitting beside her. She leaned in conspiratorially.

"Yeah, but after all that time in the TARDIS, this is a bit dull isn't it?" Although she was quite impressed with how much space they had. She had taken a quick peek behind the curtain, and was eternally grateful that they'd got an upgrade. Rory seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he smiled at her, squeezing her hand.

"But this is first class, Amy. First class! I never thought I'd be sitting here!" A few seats over a tall skinny man with curly black hair and extremely prominent cheekbones made a disdainful sound. A flicker of irritation crossed Amy's face and she leaned around her husband.

"You got a problem, mate?" The fact that anyone had butted into their conversation in first class was surprising, but Amy was going to deal with it the same way she dealt with it anywhere. Aggressively. He turned and smirked at her, revealing his startlingly blue eyes.

"Oh, not at all. Do continue to gabble for the rest of the flight about how you've "gone up in the world". Honestly, this far into your marriage shouldn't you be over this newly wed drivel?" He actually turned himself more comfortably in his seat, sweeping a disparaging gaze over Amy and Rory. This made the shorter, kinda cute man next to him take notice. He shifted around as well, frowning at the man.

"Shut it, will you?" He gave Amy and Rory apologetic smiles. "Sorry if he's bothering you. He's cranky." The pale young man in question gave his friend an affronted look, but both Amy and Rory were too busy staring at the man to notice. Amy leaned in towards Rory, whispering in his ear.

"Rory… he looks like your dad!" She was unable to take her eyes off the man. Rory was having a hard time looking away as well. The man really did look a lot like Rory's dad used to when he was younger. He looked like Rory would in a few years. Being time travellers, the two were naturally suspicious. Rory leaned his arm on the seat, giving his possible older self a confused smile.

"Hello, do I know you at all?" The man looked a little surprised by the question.

"I don't think so…" He didn't seem to have noticed the resemblance. Amy nudged Rory.

"Maybe we're getting a bit over excited, eh? Going off on an adventure and all."

"Oh dear god." All three of them turned back to the pale young man, who looked like he was about to start beating his head off the seat in front of them. Amy's brow creased in annoyance.

"What's your problem? Did Mummy not put you down for your nap today?" Rory put his arm around his wife, hoping to calm her down.

"I'm sorry about her…" At about the same time, the man who looked like an older version of him put a hand on Sherlock's arm, giving Rory an apologetic smile.

"Don't listen to him…" And in perfect unison, Amy and the dark haired young man turned to their respective partners.

"Don't apologize for me!" There was an awkward pause. Amy broke it with a sigh and a small smile.

"Look, we're going to be stuck here together for the next eight hours, if we can't get along we can at least keep to ourselves." The black haired man seemed to agree to her, but Rory and his older version shared a look.

"There's no need for that, Ames…"

"There's no reason we can't get along." There was another quiet moment, which was once again broken by the redhead when she giggled.

"Okay guys, that's weird. You can stop that any time." The dark haired man rolled his eyes, sitting back in his seat.

"Yes John, do try to shut up." John, aka Rory's older clone, gave his friend a short glare, but Amy had noticed something. Sitting up further, she frowned enquiringly at John.

"John? Hang on a sec, you do look familiar… not John Watson?" She tugged her red hair back behind her ear impatiently. Sometimes she really wanted to get it cut. Never enough to actually do anything about it, but still. John frowned at her, a little confused.

"Yes actually. Have we met?" He was beginning to wonder about that now himself. He seemed to have too much in common with the young man for it to just be a coincidence. To his surprise, the girl giggled.

"No, I recognised you from your photographs. The ones you put on your blog? "This is me, this is Sherlock"? I'm a big fan." The black haired young man, who of course had to be Sherlock, groaned and actually did bang his head against the heel of his hand.

"I might have known. And let me guess, now we have to talk about it all the way to California?" His tone was weary, and he really didn't want to be asked about the bloody solar system.

Why did everyone get hung up on that part? It wasn't like the solar system was important. To his surprise though, the redhead didn't respond with anger like she had every other one of his comments. This time she merely giggled.

"Actually I was just going to ask why you two were going to California? Shouldn't you be busy solving crimes?" Even Amy found it a little odd how willing she was to forgive his snarky comments once she knew who he was. It really did make a world of difference. Sherlock gave her a baleful glare.

"Yes, I should. In that ridiculous hat, obviously." Perhaps he was being a little impatient. Helping Mycroft left him a little irritable. The wait to get on the plane hadn't helped. Either way, he wasn't exactly in the mood to play well with others. John noticed, and gave him a reproving frown. He responded to Amy though.

"We're just going on vacation. Need a little time away from London what with all the excitement lately. Why are you two going?" Amy and Rory exchanged glances, and Rory answered, taking Amy's hand in his.

"We're going to meet up with a friend. It's been a while since we last saw him, but we're pretty sure he's waiting for us in San Francisco." The rest of the flight was spent doing exactly what Sherlock hadn't wanted to do; discussing John's blog. At least they didn't go on about the solar system.

At the airport, they went their separate ways. John and Sherlock were picked up by one of Mycroft's friends in a suitably anonymous black car, while the Ponds went to find a taxi. They didn't imagine that they would see each other again.

XX

Sam and Dean Winchester arrived in San Francisco at about eleven at night, and all they could think about was sleep. They had driven for at least 12 hours to get there after all. They checked into a small, rundown motel on the edge of town, and Dean was too tired to even hit on the pretty redhead who came to check in just as they got their keys.

Good thing too, since the slightly nervous looking man that followed her in had "husband" written all over him. It was a good night for the Winchester boys; they managed to get ten hours of sleep between them. When Dean screamed himself awake, Sam was already up sitting at the table with two coffees and a bag of doughnuts. Glancing at his brother, he waved one of the coffees.

"Hey. Want your java?" He was already half finished his. He had been up since two in the morning. Sam didn't exactly sleep well since he had left Hell. Neither had Dean, really. Both of the brothers had been very surprised when, mere hours after Sam had jumped into the pit, the younger Winchester appeared in the back seat of the Impala, Lucifer free and confused.

But nothing seemed to be wrong, and after Castiel had denied any knowledge they figured that it must have been God. With Gabriel dead, they couldn't think of anyone else who might have the juice to save Sam. Still, a few hours translated to days in Hell. In the cage, no less. Dean was quite sure that Sam's nightmares were quite a bit worse than his.

The little brother he had gotten back wasn't the same brother he had left. In true Winchester fashion, they were doing their best to ignore it. Dean took the coffee, taking a big gulp and pretending he couldn't see the deep bags under Sam's eyes.

"Yeah, thanks. So, make any headway on what we're facing here, geek boy?" Dean gave his brother a half-hearted smirk, trying to erase the last visions of his own nightmare. It was a recurring favourite, Alastair's torture rack. And the ten year old girl whose only crime had been to miss church.

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname, but didn't bother to pick a fight over it. He knew what Dean was trying not to think about.

"Actually I have. It's nothing to do with angels or demons for a change. I don't think it's a ghost either. I'm gonna have to see the victims before I can tell you what it was though." Sam tried not to look at his brother as Dean rolled out of bed, landing gracelessly on the floor with a loud smack.

"Sounds like a plan. Give me a minute to get dressed and we'll go." Dean hauled himself up, groping around on his bed for his FBI shirt. Maybe he should sleep a few more hours a night.

Or just not tuck himself in with vodka. The alcohol had served its purpose though; he had managed almost a full six hours before the nightmares came.

XXXX

HK: Man Sam and Dean are angsty… don't worry they'll cheer up! I wish…


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